


The Complete Idiot's Guide to Exorcism

by SharkbaitHooHaHa



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitHooHaHa/pseuds/SharkbaitHooHaHa
Summary: Aziraphale performs 'exorcisms.' Crowley is amused.





	The Complete Idiot's Guide to Exorcism

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of [Chicken Soup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403199/chapters/48395374), but I really wanted to turn it into a full fic, so consider this a prologue of sorts, the rest of the fic will go back to the original shenanigans and show them getting together.
> 
> Prologue was based off [this tumblr post](https://acuteangleaziraphale.tumblr.com/post/187679167970), but the rest is just bullshit that had been swimming in my head for a while.

Aziraphale was _trying_ to ‘just enjoy the movie, Angel,’ as Crowley had said. _Really_. He _was_. But his thoughts kept drifting back to that dilapidated shack that had the nerve to call itself a pub where Crowley had first suggested The Plan. Unlike The Arrangement, The Plan did not require him to directly meddle in Hell’s affairs, which was probably why he had agreed to it in the first place.

The idea was simple- Crowley would, without notice, stir up a bit of trouble in a small village. Nothing serious, of course, just a bit of bad luck here, a couple of mishaps there; really, it was just Crowley making a general nuisance of himself (which he did enough of already, so it wasn’t as though it might ‘upset the balance,’ as it were.) Then, decked out in his most holy garb, Aziraphale would show up, do a couple of blessings, say a few prayers, and the trouble would all cease, leaving the villagers with a story to tell and Crowley and Aziraphale to grab a meal together and celebrate a job well done. It was a win for both sides: Hell got whatever handful souls Crowley managed to tempt, and anyone who was impressed with the exorcism had a renewal of faith, scoring points for Heaven.

It wasn’t supposed to turn into…_ this_. Whatever _this_ was. This sensationalized version of an exorcism, all for a cheap thrill. In fact, the whole ‘exorcism’ thing was supposed to be done with as soon as the two of them had called it quits. After all, none of these methods actually _worked_. Not even holy water could harm a demon once they were safely inside a vessel (not that they tried it, Aziraphale had never let Crowley actually possess anybody, and Crowley hadn’t seemed too eager to have a jaunt around in somebody else’s skin in the first place.)

“Alright, fine.” Aziraphale’s constant sighing must have finally gotten to the demon, as he paused the movie and looked pointedly at the angel. “Go ahead. Say it.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Say what?”

“Angel.”

“Fine. This is all _your_ fault.”

But Crowley just gave him that damnable grin, the one that made Aziraphale agree to even the stupidest of schemes, and said, “Wanna do another one? For old time’s sake?” Which was how he ended up spending his perfectly good Saturday dressed in his old (and, to no one’s surprise, severely outdated) bishop’s robes, assuring a middle-aged couple that he’d take care of that nasty demon (who the couple couldn’t see simply because Crowley told them Not To) in no time at all. 

“Oh, it’s just been awful, Father, we haven’t had a moment’s peace. Queen starts playing at odd hours of the night at full volume, things keep moving around, lights flicker, there’s this awful wailing coming from the attic, and my plants _shake_.”

Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes and tried to look sympathetic instead. Really, Crowley could be quite dramatic. “Well, my dear,” he squeezed the woman’s hand, and pointedly ignored the demon who was currently draped across the sofa and looking quite pleased with himself. “I do believe, I can help you.”

He stood in the center of the room, bible in one hand, a vial of (unblessed) tap water in the other and cleared his throat. “Um, begone!” Oh, dear, it seemed he was a bit rusty. “Bother these good people no more!”

Oh, for Heaven’s- Crowley was _laughing_ at him now and he could feel the tips of his ears growing hot.

“The power of Christ compels you!”

“The power of _you_ compels me.” Leave it to Crowley to flirt while he was trying to do a job. The demon stretched out languidly in a pose that reminded Aziraphale of that movie Crowley had made him watch (the one with the boat and the iceberg and something about French girls) and smiled seductively, winking at Aziraphale as he tried to recite the Lord’s prayer. And where in the nine circles of Hell did that rose between his teeth come from?!

Aziraphale was beet red from the top of his head to the tip of his toes now, he was sure, and feeling quite cross. Instead of sprinkling the water around, as was customary, he unceremoniously upended the entire vial over Crowley’s head and marched past the confused looking couple and right out that door, dragging a spluttering demon in his wake. 

“Your house is blessed. Good day.”


End file.
